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I take their distraction as an opportunity to hunt down Becker, taking off in the direction in which he headed, and I soon find myself in the huge room where the auction was held, but instead of the rows and rows of chairs facing a rostrum, there are now round tables edged with chairs that have huge black silk bows fastened to the back. Each table is covered in blood-red organza, with black orchids arranged elaborately in tall glass vases, and the tableware – plates, bowls and napkins— are all black. Black and red. It’s harsh but forgiving. It’s sexy but tasteful. It’s miles away from the originality of the mansion, but very much in keeping with the Heart of Hell, the giant ruby that’s being showcased this evening. People are milling around, some already seated. I spot Becker at the bar.
‘Haig,’ he mutters to the barman as I join him. ‘On the rocks.’
I place my glass down beside him. ‘That woman. It’s the Lady Winchester, isn’t it? The one from the file at The Haven.’
‘Yes,’ he answers shortly, keeping his attention away from me. It’s no wonder Becker made a sharp exit from her company. I’ll be sure to steer clear of her for the rest of the evening. We can’t be associated with people under investigation for forged art. Because, of course, my Becker is as straight-laced as they come.
The barman hands Becker his drink, and it’s knocked back in one. He slams his glass down and holds onto it, his fingers white from his harsh grip. I eye him, seeing his breathing increasing, like he’s getting more and more worked up. Something’s not right. Who called him? What did they say?
‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I demand, feeling a bit fretful.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ He looks at me, pure disdain tarnishing his angel eyes. His lips twist, and he leans in as he reaches into his inside pocket. ‘Why are you making calls to your ex?’
His question is a bolt out of the blue, and I am less than prepared for it. Fuck. ‘It’s not what you think. I was simp—’ I stop abruptly. Wait a minute. ‘How do you even know?’
He looks at me out the corner of his eye, and realisation slams into me.
‘You’ve got my bloody phone bugged, haven’t you?’ I’m flummoxed. ‘That was Percy on the phone giving you details of my recent calls.’ What the fuck is he playing at?
‘If you don’t get the message across,’ Becker ignores my accusation, his tone menacing, ‘then I’m not opposed to doing it myself. I doubt I’ll be as diplomatic as you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Do you still think of him?’
‘Seriously?’ I blurt, outraged. ‘No, I don’t.’ What’s the matter with him? ‘I asked him to return the keys for my father’s shop. That’s all. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning it because—’
‘Because what?’
‘This!’ I snap, boring holes into Becker’s profile with an angry gaze as he stares ahead. ‘But it seems I didn’t need to mention it, since you’re fucking spying on me.’
‘I’m not spying. I’m—’
‘Do you trust me?’ I ask calmly, though on the inside I’m raging. After everything he’s put me through?
‘I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.’ He shoves his glass away. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’ Taking the fresh glass being handed to him by the barman, he knocks back another Haig and slams his empty down.
‘You haven’t got time for this? You mean us?’ I ask, prickling with irritation. ‘Nice to know you’re invested. Maybe I haven’t got time to wrap my head around the shit you keep landing on me,’ I seethe. ‘I’m not hanging around to be accused of whatever your paranoid brain conjures up. Have a good night, Hunt.’ I storm off, needing to get out of here before I swing at him. He hasn’t got time for this? What, now or ever?
The arsehole.
Making my way from the room, I resist the urge to go back and slap his face. Then I wish I had, because someone else has just caught my eye. Someone I fucking hate. My hackles shoot up. I swallow down my growl of anger, my eyes drilling into Alexa’s back as I force myself to continue on my way. My feet have become heavy, telling me that leaving Becker here would be a stupid move with her loitering around. Those long, skinny legs look poised and ready to wrap around a waist at any moment.
I bump into a chair, knocking it into the table. ‘Shit,’ I curse, ignoring all of the disapproving looks being thrown at me. ‘Sorry.’ I don’t rush to put the chair back, and instead stumble my way towards the door, now set on finding the ladies and composing myself. I’m not leaving here with that floozy on the prowl.
